An Unquiet Place

by Clare Houston

  ‘Do you care?’ said Douglas, watching Hannah carefully.

  ‘I don’t care for him any more. And he feels nothing for me. No doubt his supermodel girlfriend is waiting for him at home. It’s all about his position on the ladder. I gather being a white man in a predominantly black party is tenuous. Any threat could topple him.’

  ‘Especially old Afrikaner history?’ said Kathryn.

  ‘It’s made him rather ugly.’

  ‘Tell him to bugger off,’ said Kathryn, busying herself with packing shiny apple Danishes into a pink cardboard box for Barbara.

  ‘I want to.’ Hannah perched on a stool pulled up to the counter, resting her head in her hands. ‘Something about him always paralysed me. It still does, even now that everything is over. He turns me into this little girl who takes instructions. I can’t bear it.’

  ‘Is he a churchgoer?’ said Douglas.

  ‘No. He can’t handle any power higher than himself.’

  ‘That says a lot,’ said Douglas, standing. ‘Would you like me to help get rid of him?’

  ‘Shouldn’t I be doing it myself? I’m so pathetic.’

  ‘Hey!’ Heat flared in Kathryn’s eyes. ‘This is what he does to you. Makes you feel pathetic, and you are not! You need him gone. Out of your life. It doesn’t matter how.’ She reached across the counter to grip Hannah’s arm. ‘What’s that proverb, Douglas? Like a dog returns to its vomit, so a fool returns to his foolishness.’

  ‘That’s disgusting,’ said Hannah. ‘It’s in the Bible?’

  Douglas grinned at her wide eyes. ‘Kathryn’s right. This man is toxic. Let’s get him away from you so you don’t have to revert to being someone you despise. Feeling compelled to eat your own vomit.’

  ‘Sies, man, you two,’ said Hannah, but she already felt lighter.

  Douglas pulled Hannah off her stool. ‘Kathryn, you got a knobkierie? An axe? How about a butcher knife? No? Oh well.’ And then, crowing in his favourite Southern accent, ‘We’ll just have to lean on the power of the Almighty!’

  Kathryn laughing, called after him, ‘You are the most idioti—’

  ‘But you love me!’ he yelled back.

  Hannah became more and more apprehensive as they approached the shop. She pushed the door open, and Douglas gestured for her to go to Barbara as he entered the reading room, leaving the door open. Hannah and Barbara positioned themselves at the desk where they had a clear view across the passage. Hannah stood frozen to the spot at the computer, feeling heat pound in her face at the shame of her friends being caught up in this but also leaning in to hear what Douglas was going to say. She needn’t have bothered, because Douglas pulled out his sermon voice, and it rang clearly through the shop. Hannah slid into the passage and flipped the shop sign to ‘Closed’.

  Todd was sitting in one of the reading-room armchairs, one ankle on the other knee, idly flipping through a magazine. He looked up in surprise when Douglas came in, his face beaming.

  ‘At last we meet, Todd. I have heard so much about you from Hannah.’ Douglas sat down in the opposite chair, leant forward, and shook Todd’s hand vigorously. ‘I have got to know Hannah so well in the past months. She’s involved in our church activities, and I have come to appreciate her as a fine woman who is really growing in her faith. Praise the Lord.’

  Hannah could see that Todd was so taken aback by the zealous force of Douglas, he was rendered speechless.

  ‘And when I heard just now that her fiancé was here to fetch her, I thought this indeed was the Lord at work. I had to come across to meet the man who wants to take Hannah to wed. How wonderfully we are made. Are we not?’

  Todd shifted in his chair. ‘Um, I’m not sure you understand—’

  ‘You are so right! Of course we do not understand the majesty of the Lord – how could we? Todd’ – Douglas looked seriously at Todd and gripped his arm – ‘our little community is holding a humble Bible study this afternoon. Will you come and lead us in our study of Lamentations? Hannah has told me of your incisive mind and authority. Your input would be enlightening.’

  Todd opened his mouth to speak, but Douglas filled the gap: ‘And then! Then we could hold a simple ceremony of matrimony for you and Hannah. She is an honourable woman who does not set much store on the trappings of the world – I’m sure you know this already. She would be delighted with a small wedding, just the Bible study group to witness your troth. I will call our organist right this minute.’ He took his phone from his pocket and began tapping at the keys.

  Todd interjected quickly: ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible.’ He looked at the door. ‘I have a flight out of Bloemfontein this afternoon,’ he said, glancing at his watch. ‘I will need to leave … very soon.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Douglas settling in, ‘maybe another time.’ He called over his shoulder, ‘Barbara, how about some tea?’

  Barbara grinned at Hannah and hurried down the passage to put the kettle on.

  Now that Douglas was clearly not going anywhere, Todd stood awkwardly for a few moments and then picked up his case.

  ‘Travel well,’ called Douglas cheerfully.

  Hannah opened the door for Todd and walked him down the steps to the pavement.

  ‘This isn’t over, Hannah.’ His eyes were mean.

  ‘Actually, Todd, it is over. Completely and utterly over. Please don’t contact me again.’

  ‘I said in the beginning and I’ll say it again now, Hannah. You’re a quitter. You won’t stick at this, just like all the other things you’ve started and then baled at the first hurdle.’

  ‘You’re wrong.’

  He laughed. ‘Oh really? If I’m so wrong, why not come with me now and we can patch things up between us? Give it another go, hey, Hannah?’

  ‘And be the woman you cheat on for the rest of my life? Why would I?’

  ‘Because you’re not capable of more, Hannah. I’m the best opportunity you’ll have because I know you. Hell, I made you. No one else would put up with your dithering, your flakiness.’

  ‘Go to hell, Todd.’

  ‘Fine.’ He shrugged. ‘You know where to find me. I’ll be there to take you in when this’ – he gestured a circle to the town square – ‘this fucking fantasy is too much for you to bear.’

  She stood as he walked to his rental car and waited until he disappeared around the square.

  Hannah climbed slowly up the steps. So he was gone. It’s what she wanted. So why was she feeling so beaten? Breathing in a long, deep breath, she pushed open the shop door. Barbara and Douglas were sitting in the reading room, a tray of tea and the box of apple Danishes between them.

  ‘You, my girl,’ said Barbara, ‘need a cup of tea.’

  Hannah smiled and sank into a chair just as the doorbell tinkled and Alistair peered round the door.

  ‘Alistair!’ called Douglas. ‘Come on in, we’ve been having fun and games and now we’re having Danishes.’

  ‘I’ve just come by to drop this off for my mum.’ He came in and put an envelope on the table next to Hannah. ‘It’s money for the book you brought her the other day?’

  Hannah smiled up at him. ‘Oh, she needn’t have done that – it was a gift.’

  He smiled briefly back and looked to Douglas. ‘What’s this about fun and games?’

  ‘We’ve just managed to see off Hannah’s fiancé, Todd. Marvellous performance on my part, hey, Barbara?’

  Hannah didn’t hear the reply; she was watching Alistair. His mouth smiled, but she could see his brain trying to catch up, his face desperately covering his confusion. Hannah could feel him withdraw from her and she wanted so much to shout, ‘Stop!’, freeze the scene, make it rewind to a few moments before when she could have met him outside, told him herself, ended this awful slow-motion unfolding of her past for him.

  But Alistair left a few minutes later with Douglas, who was still going on about Todd. Alistair said goodbye, but didn’t look at Hannah, and she felt the cut deeply.

  ‘Barba
ra, why are relationships such minefields?’ she asked, dropping her head on the table.

  ‘There’d be no thrill if there was no danger, sweetheart.’ Barbara squeezed Hannah’s shoulder as she left with the tea tray.

  ‘No thrill sounds rather nice right now,’ said Hannah to the empty room.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Hannah saw nothing of Alistair for two weeks. He didn’t come near the shop, and when she visited the Goshen site with Joseph, there was no sign of him. Her guilt and relief intermingled. If he despised her so much that he didn’t want to see her, it certainly resolved the issue of their relationship. She didn’t know how to deal with her sense of loss, though. She had glimpsed a connection with him which had been so fragile but beautiful too. Spider-web like. The only thing she knew how to do was shut off. She immersed herself in finishing the journal instead.

  The last sections of Rachel’s journal were terribly sad for Hannah to read. Rachel’s mother and little sisters were all dead, and Rachel still didn’t know.

  March 1902, Goshen Camp, Orange River Colony

  Dear Wolf,

  I have not written for so long. As the weather cools again and autumn approaches, we are hard at work harvesting the crops. There seem to be more and more British moving across the veld. The more soldiers, the more mouths to feed, and the more we are expected to grow. The camp rules remain the same: if we work, we can buy food at a fair price. If we refuse to work, we’ll have to pay double. Work or starve – those are our choices.

  Fewer people are coming into the camp at last. It is as if the war is getting tired now, running out of fuel. It can’t be bothered to bring more misery down onto the land. It is merely limping along, waiting for an end. I feel the same. No newcomers, but people are still dying here. The number of strong, well people is getting smaller. The load of work for us who can still bend to the fields is getting heavier. We see little of the doctor. He came one day with some visiting nurses. The women wore smart uniforms. Their white aprons and white veils looked so beautiful, so remarkably clean, we could only stare at them, our faces vacant and dull. A man took photographs of them and us, a record of their presence in the camp, but we have not seen them again.

  The Methodist Episcopal minister, Reverend Charlie, has been several times to see us. He tells us the British have swarmed over this country like locusts. That the Boers left in the hills are bravely fighting, but that it is surely a lost cause now. The ‘Bittereindes’, he called them. And bitter indeed is the thought of you fighting for us while we feed the enemy.

  Please don’t forget me here, Wolf. I want to go home. I want to see Oupa Jakob. I will be a good girl for Ma. I will never again complain about my share of the work. I will play with Lizzie and Kristina, whatever they want to play. I will never say I’m too busy again. I will never be angry with you again. I will never be jealous of your horses again. I’m sorry, Wolf.

  The shrill ring of the phone pulled Hannah from the journal and, not thinking, she went to answer, grabbing a tissue from the box in the kitchen to blow her nose and hoping she could mask the choke in her voice.

  ‘Hello?’

  Nothing.

  ‘Dammit!’ She slammed the phone down, then took the receiver off the hook before it could ring again. The calls were coming every night now, numerous times, and she’d resorted to leaving her phone off the hook mostly, especially when she went to bed. There had been times in Cape Town when the family had experienced something similar. Hangup calls or just breathing. Her mother had dismissed them as random or, at worst, a disgruntled student, unhappy with a term mark. Ignored, the calls usually stopped.

  Pouring herself a glass of water at the kitchen sink, Hannah glimpsed her reflection in the black window. The dark hollowed her face, making her think of Esme. She was still the biggest obstacle to finding out more about Rachel. Hannah knew there was more at the Silwerfontein cottage, if only she could get to it.

  She had seen Karl at the petrol station earlier that day, and had quickly crossed the street, coming to the window of his pickup and greeting him.

  He’d smiled at her, but there was a hovering awkwardness. ‘Esme is just in the supermarket – I can’t stop to chat, sorry, man.’

  ‘It’s okay. Karl, I just want to ask you one thing, please.’

  He’d looked through the front windscreen and nodded slightly.

  ‘There was this girl, Rachel Badenhorst. She was part of your family during the South African War. We think she was sent to a concentration camp on Goshen. Most of the family were sent to Winburg and they died there. Have you ever heard of this before? Did your mother or grandparents tell you any stories? Is there anything at Silwerfontein which could tell me more about her?’

  ‘That’s more than one question, Hannah,’ he had said gently, looking at his big hands on the steering wheel. ‘I don’t remember anything about that stuff. I wasn’t interested when my mother tried to tell me about her research. It bored me. Look, Esme’s my priority right now. She’s too fragile to risk setting off. I can’t get involved, sorry.’ As he’d looked up at Hannah, the deep sorrow in his eyes had filled her with remorse.

  ‘It’s okay. I’m the one who’s sorry. I don’t mean to cause you or your family more pain.’ She’d stepped away from the car with a smile of apology for Karl.

  But her mind raced. Karl’s mother had researched the family? It was all probably sitting in her little house, gathering dust. The revelation hung over Hannah as she returned to Rachel’s journal.

  Reverend Charlie led us in prayer. He is so angry. He shouts at the Lord and pleads with Him, like the psalmists. He said that enough people have died here. He says he’s going to write and protest to the Queen herself, if things do not change in this camp. He is so full of ire, so enraged, I believe he would do it too. But then he read Psalm 23 and the words rang out in the camp. This was no quiet balm for our pain. He read with ferocity. A declaration against the evil we have seen.

  The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.

  He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.

  For eternity, I will think of that psalm read like a battle cry against that camp. Declaring the Lord as our master, not the British. His rod and staff raised in defence of the helpless.

  To Hannah’s relief, Joseph, with the helpful intervention of Moses Motala, was making huge strides. He had networked and pulled together a group of researchers who were interested in pursuing their own work on the site. One archaeologist was interested especially in the use of fuels in the camp. She was a botanist and wanted to investigate the hearths and take samples of charcoal or ash to find out which plant materials had been used. In that open Free State landscape, there were few trees to be seen, so it was likely that, like in many camps, people had collected and burnt cakes of dung. The presence of dung would suggest livestock around the camp, and that would say much about the life of the camp inmates.

  Joseph told Hannah he had identified the main living area, though there was little left of the camp dwellings. The hearth places were useful, and it seemed that some tents or shelters had had a cooking place directly outside. The team had found the odd utensil and the leg of a cast-iron cooking pot to confirm the idea.

  One day, Hannah caught a lift up to the dig with one of the students. She found Joseph at the far end of the plateau, working on the section which he had confirmed as the cemetery. Most graves were unmarked, though a few seemed to have small cairns built across the graves. Students were marking off the graves with lines of string, pegging the strings into the hard ground with mallets.

  ‘You’re making great progress, Jose,’ Hannah said, coming up behind him.

  He spun around, pulling her into his side for a hug. ‘Nice to see you up here. You’v
e been scarce.’

  ‘Just busy,’ she said. ‘How many are you up to?’

  ‘We’ve estimated two hundred graves.’

  Hannah let out a slow whistle. ‘Two hundred people? In two years? That’s awful, Jose.’

  ‘We haven’t begun to excavate yet. There might be more than one body in some of these. The number could be twice or even three times that.’

  ‘Rachel describes that in December 1901, actually. It just hits home when you’re standing here looking at the real scale of it. How many people do you think were in the camp?’

  ‘Difficult to say without records. The standard measure is that ten per cent of the camp populations died. That would put this camp at two thousand people at a minimum. But I don’t think this plateau camp could hold that many people. I would guess that, rather, the death rate was horrendously high.’

  ‘Rachel speaks of measles and typhoid being the main killers,’ said Hannah, breathing a deep sigh and looking over the site.

  ‘I would imagine we could add exposure to that list, thinking of being up here in winter. And starvation.’ Joseph kicked a stone at his feet. ‘We haven’t found nearly as many ration tins as we thought. Certainly no condensed milk tins, which we expected to find. And very little military detritus. There’s something strange about this camp.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Hannah.

  ‘We know quite a bit about other Boer camps. There were soldiers around a lot, managing the everyday running of the camp. The inmates were given rations – meagre, but still, they were fed. Here, we’ve found the odd buckle and a few ammunition shells, but nothing like the number we should have found. And very few ration tins.’ He bent to pick a grass stem, and twisted it in his hands.

  ‘Maybe they were just very tidy and threw away all the old tins.’ Hannah grinned at Joseph.

  He looked back at her and smiled. ‘You think you’re being silly, but you could be right. We’ve got the rubbish heap still to excavate – that should tell us more about what they ate here, I suppose.’